Of Death and Hobbits
by Eleanor Damaschke
Summary: AU. BagginShield. Fem!Bilbo (Billa). Inspired by Ssilcatt's nightmare!verse on tumblr. Written VERY late at night. Try not to cry too much. Bad for keyboards, don't you know.
1. Remembering

_I can't bring myself to forgive her for leaving._

_Whether or not she was actually to blame is not my decision to make. But as I sit here and listen to our daughter cry, I can't help the anger that rises in me. I want her to be here. I want her to not be dead. And the fact that she fails to heed my wishes, as ever she did, angers me._

_There is nothing I can do to forget her smile, her laugh, her scent. It's still as though she could walk into the room at any moment and scold me for worrying so much. She never did grow tired of scolding me. It was as though I could do nothing right. At the same time, she made me feel as though I could do nothing wrong._

Thorin's train of thought was broken when his daughter's crying escalated into a scream for attention. With a sigh, he set his quill aside and pushed himself away from the desk. The infant was hardly longer than his forearm, and her thick, dark curls nearly obscured her face. That was probably what was upsetting her. Thorin leaned over the crib and brushed the dark locks aside with a gentle finger. She had her mother's hazel eyes. The dwarf's heart ached as he looked at the little girl, and wondered for the hundredth time that day, what would be different if Billa were still alive.

The infant calmed a little, now that her hair was no longer all over her face, but she had her father's attention and seemed unwilling to let him go. So rather than tolerating Thorin's retreat to his desk, she screamed at him again until he returned, and grasped his finger in two tiny hands, gnawing on his ink-stained finger with wet, harmless gums. 

Thorin gave in and sat in the char beside her crib, the chair that was a little too small for him, because it had been built for Billa. Bifur had crafted the chair specifically to ease Billa's night-time aches, and she had loved it dearly. Slept in it almost every night that Thorin would let her. It had struck him as unnatural to sleep sitting up, and some deeply-rooted part of his heart had twanged uncomfortably every time he saw her dozing, chin on her chest, one arm draped over her burgeoning belly. Perhaps it had been jealousy that had prompted him to insist she sleep in the bed where he could hold her properly. Perhaps not. Either way, he wished he'd insisted more.

As the baby girl had her fill of gumming his finger into submission, she started to drift off again, hazel eyes fluttering as she fought sleep. Thorin's lips curved slightly in a faint, sad smile. So many things about his daughter reminded him of the wife he'd never see again. The grief was intense, but this... having a piece of her that depended on him so utterly... this kept it at bay. He had, like many of his kind, lost his senses with the death of his beloved. But there were too many things that depended on his strength for him to take the freedom of insanity at its alluring word, and leave it all behind. Fili was struggling with his own form of grief, and Kili had never really been cut out to rule. Balin was preparing to leave for Moria, and Dis was busy keeping order in Ered Luin. And now his daughter, this tiny, helpless infant. At first, they hadn't been sure she would live. As strong as she was, lacking one hobbit had made them question if a hobbit/dwarf halfblood would be able to outlive her delicate mother. The answer, it seemed, was yes. 

"You're strong, aren't you?" he whispered to the sleeping infant. "My little princess."


	2. Prequel (death scene)

((And then I got it into my head to write a death scene, so I wrote a prequel.))

In battle, it wasn't the screaming that really made an impression on Thorin's mind. It was the sound of the blade being withdrawn from a living body.

After the Battle of the Five Armies, he had thought the likelihood of hearing that sound again were fairly slim. The greatest threats to his kingdom had been eliminated, and there were few enough reasons for the King Under the Mountain to endanger himself with personally entering a fight.

Certainly, he'd never expected to hear it in the streets of Dale.

And he had only ever imagined in his worst nightmares that the body the blade was drawn out of would be _hers_.

Thorin's vision was filled with a gleaming, curved blade, a stream of blood. The deep green of her gown, the red stain spreading, turning the fabric the color of old rust. The colors were vivid, much sharper than he remembered ever seeing them before. The dwarf was only aware of his own pounding footsteps as a distant beat, something too far away to matter. What mattered was the weight of her in his arms, the look of fear on her face.

"Billa, you're bleeding." As though informing her were the most important thing int he world. "Hold still. Don't move." What had the first step always been? Not bandaging. No. Pressure. Apply pressure to the wound. See if it was clean. Oh Mahal, if the blade had been poisoned-! Thorin pushed that thought aside and pressed his hand against the growing stain. In her back, below the ribs, angled upward. A killing blow.

_But not fatal. It can't be fatal._ The knife wasn't long enough. Or was it? Billa was so tiny. One of her hands brushed over his cheek. Thorin saw her mouth moving. What was she saying?

"Shush. You're injured. Be quiet and let me save your life." _Please, let me save her._

The world around him was chaos. Dwarves and men, weapons and boots, horses and ponies. Thorin didn't care. He would be angry and bellow about justice after she was safe. After her blood was washed away and the pain was gone from her face. After she slept, then he would hunt down her attacker and tear him apart with his bare hands.

"We need to get her into the Mountain." When the female dwarf had gotten there, he wasn't sure, but there she was. Vaguely familiar. He thought he knew those braids, but there was no name to go with the face, not in his mind, anyway. Not right now. Into the Mountain. Into the Healer's Hall. But that would mean moving her. Moving her was dangerous. Not moving her was more dangerous.

"Get a wagon. And blankets."

"Yes, sir."

Thorin later tried to recall how long it took to get back to Erebor. Dale was in an uproar, which made the going slow, though the mass of people parted the instant they knew the wagon carried the injured Queen.

The female dwarf, the one with the familiar braids, she stayed with them. She kept touching Billa's stomach, which upset Thorin quite a bit. He tried to shoo her away, but she kept coming back. Whatever she was saying, it couldn't be important. It couldn't be as important as paying attention to Billa.  
His burglar occasionally opened her mouth, murmured something. he quieted her. He would protect her. He would save her. He had to.

"She's lost too much blood."

Oin looked like he'd just swallowed an under-ripe lemon and was only tasting it now that it had lodged in his throat. The Healer's expert hands were steady as ever, though his eyes looked markedly wet. Thorin had to swallow anger at the older dwarf, clenching his fists.

"What's that mean? You can't patch her up? She's had worse before."

"Not this deep." Oin looked grave, and the lemon must have made the words taste especially bitter. "And not when she was ready to give birth."

"Give birth?" The King Under the Mountain tried to stop his heart from exploding in his chest. "What-?"

"She's in labor, you idiot." The female with the familiar braids was scowling at him. Was she allowed to do that? "If you want either your wife or your child to live, then _get out of my way._"

The wailing of a newborn cut the air.

There was something particular about the crying of a newborn that set it apart from the cries of older, less wet infants. Thorin burst through the door, too anxious (and frightened, if truth be told) to wait any longer. the female was holding a decidedly bloody-looking infant in her arms, and Oin was bending over Billa's terrifyingly still frame, his ear to her mouth.

"Billa!"

Thorin stumbled forward, his world starting to go numb again. No. No, she couldn't do this. The relief that pierced him when he saw her chest rise and fall with the breath that kept her alive was tempered by the amount of blood smeared over the bed, on Oin's arms, on the female's front, pooling on the floor. Too much blood. Oin looked at him and shook his head slightly, eyes already dimming with grief.

"No. No, Billa, you can't." He grabbed her hand. It felt cool.

"Thorin." The name was hardly more than a breath, but he heard it. He heard it, just as he heard the labored beating of her heart, and the squeaking cries of the baby.

"I'm here, Billa. Damn you, you're not allowed to die. You can't. I need you."

"Thorin," she breathed again. She was trying to open her eyes, eyes glassy with pain. "Take... take care of her."

"No, Billa, don't say that."

"Athila... her name... is Athila."

"Please, Billa."

"My time," she murmured, trying to look at him, and eventually giving up, letting her eyes close.

"Billa, don't you dare."

"You'll find me."

"Billa Baggins, I swear-"

"I... love you. Always have." A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips.

"Billa." It was a plea. A desperate, sad plea. Thorin knew he was begging, and didn't care. Anything was better than losing her. He could feel her slipping away, and it left a hole too big for his chest to contain.

"I'm... sorry."

"I... I love you too. Please, Billa... don't leave me."

But it was too late. Her last, shallow breath left her half-open mouth... and she didn't breathe in again. Her face was still, fixed in a look of pain. Thorin's world stopped spinning, and the chaos inside him exploded.


	3. Alt Ending (non-death scene)

((And then I just couldn't deal with the sadness of it all, so I had to write an alternate ending where she _didn't _die, but I was getting _really_ tired.))

There is something about the cry of a newborn that sets it apart from the voice of an older, less ugly infant. Thorin burst through the door, too anxious, too frightened to wait any longer. Oin was working feverishly over the bed. The female with the braids was holding the tiny, wrinkled form of his child. He didn't spare it more than a glance as he crossed the room to Billa's side.

She was pale as death, but she was breathing. Blood on the bed, on the dwarves that had helped birth his child, on the floor, on the blankets. Blood everywhere. Too much blood. Oin looked too serious, but at least he was still working.

"She's still bleeding." Dark words for a dark time. "Hold this."

Thorin found himself drawn into caring for his wife, holding this, pressing that, grinding the other thing. The hours that followed were a blur. Billa seemed to drift in and out of consciousness, though if truth be told, there was little difference between the two states.

The room was silent as a tomb, the lights dimmed. Thorin was in the chair beside the bed, his upper body sprawled on the mattress beside Billa's still, cool form. She was cold, Oin said, because of the amount of blood she'd lost. It was important to keep her warm. The halfling was all but invisible under a heap of blankets. All but her hand, which he held, even in restless sleep.

When her fingers tightened fractionally around his thumb, the dwarf woke suddenly and fully. His alert brain fed him dozens of irrelevant observations before he got to the one that mattered. Her hand was warm, and she was moving her fingers. Thorin pulled the blankets back just enough to see her face. She was struggling to open her eyes. She looked like she was in pain, and Thorin thought he might bite his own tongue in two if he had to live with the knowledge that she was in pain any longer.

"Athila," she whispered, stirring fretfully.

Thorin's relief was so intense he thought he might pass out. "OIN!" Billa winced as he thundered the name, and the Mountain King wasn't sure if he regretted it or not. The Healer couldn't come quickly enough.

"She's awake."

"Good. Keep her awake. Help her drink this."

The Healer pressed a lukewarm tea into his hand. It smelled of a number of green things Thorin didn't want to think about. But if it would help Billa...

He helped the halfling lift her head enough to drink the tea. She made faces, and he assumed his conclusion about the taste of the tea was correct.

"Athila," she croaked, when the cup was empty.

"It's alright," Thorin soothed. "She's healthy." He had no idea if that was true, but he wanted Billa to calm down, to rest and get better.

"I can always tell," she whispered accusingly, already falling back asleep, "when you're making it up."


End file.
